Will he reject me?
Will he want to be just friends?
Will he say that he wants me, too?
“How did you get so wise?” Leo is only three years olderthan I am. There’s no way he has so much more life experience that he should be providing sage advice.
He turns and looks back toward the counter for a second. “It’s all the sweet coffee. You miss out on the wisdom by drinking tea.”
I’m not sure I buy that, but I’m willing to let it go. We sit in silence for a few minutes, sipping our drinks and people watching. It might be a Thursday, but the streets are busy. Lots of college students are home for the holiday, shopping, and catching up with old friends. Others are out doing their gift shopping, hoping they won’t get caught by their loved ones.
“We need to get back.” Leo tugs my arm, pulling me back to the present. He’s right. We’ve got a rehearsal to get to with the children’s company who are performing with us this weekend. “You’ve got planning to do.”
“What?” I’m afraid my daydreaming made me miss a whole discussion.
“On how you are going to woo the man of your dreams.”
“Woo? Seriously? Woo.”
“Try it first, then make fun of me.”
CHAPTER 23
AIDAN
There’s nothing like waking up on the first Monday of Christmas vacation. Yes, the students officially started on Friday afternoon, but I always have some final things to finish putting together before I can formally close the books for the holiday. Cleaning up messes, ensuring there’s no food hiding in cubby holes to rot over the break, and checking the materials to make sure the first lesson is ready to go when we return in January.And, of course, bringing Goldie home to live in a child-free environment for a whole three weeks.
Then the weekend feels… strange, like my body doesn’t quite believe that we’re really off work. It’s on Monday morning when I roll over, panic that the sun is up and I’m not, followed by a deep sense of relief when I remember it’s vacation.
There are many aspects of being a teacher that I enjoy, but the vacations are a big part of it. Even if I do spendsummer vacation working for some tutoring companies to supplement my income, it’s different. The level of responsibility, the amount of planning, and the sleepless nights are all much lower.
The best part? I have the whole day to myself. To lounge around on the couch and catch up on all the shows I swear I’m going to watch, but never do. It’s tradition to spend the day in my pajamas, ordering takeout, and generally turning into a sloth.
So why am I standing on Covey’s front porch?
That’s a good question. One I don’t have an answer to right now. Somehow, I ended up showering, putting on jeans, and making my way across town to talk to him. About what?
Another good question that I’m hoping to come up with an answer to by the time he opens the door.Perhaps I can find a way to confess my love for him and ask him to consider a real relationship with me.
Except, he’s not answering. His car is here, and when we texted yesterday, he said he’d be home until mid-afternoon when he went over to the theater to get ready for the performance tonight.
I ring the doorbell. Again. Nothing. I check my phone to see if there’s a response to my text message. Nothing. Not even a read receipt.
I bite my lip, trying to decide what to do. He’s not expecting me, so he’s not required to answer the door. Something feels off, and my gut won’t let me walk away.If he went somewhere, he’d have taken his car.
I try the door, and shockingly, the knob turns. Once we’ve resolved this, I’ll discuss safety with him. This isn’t exactly a dangerous area, but there’s still some amount of crime. Serial killers are on the lookout for this kind of thing. At least that’s what my podcasts tell me.
“Covey?” I call, slowly opening the door. “It’s Aidan. Are you here?”
No response.
“Covey?” I close the door behind me and make my way into the kitchen.There’s a half-full cup of tea on the counter, but no other signs of life. Now I’m starting to worry. Where else would he be? The door is wide open when I get there, bed unmade, but no Covey.
I poke around, looking for any clues about where he might be. Everything I find makes me worry even more. His wallet is on top of the dresser. His usual coat is still hanging in the entryway.
I pause my snooping when I hear a clamor in the kitchen.
“Covey?” I run toward the noise, only to find him leaning up against the kitchen counter, stripping off his long-sleeve shirt.
